


Payment for Services Rendered

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Light BDSM, M/M, Multi, Orgy, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 05:18:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5116928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eleven invites everyone over for an orgy, which winds up gender-segregated for unspecified reasons. When the men run out of lube first, they send him to fetch more from the ladies. But the women of the TARDIS aren't about to part with it for free.</p>
<p>Too many pairings to list, but the focus of the fic is on Eleven getting fucked in a variety of pairings/trios with a side order of femslash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Payment for Services Rendered

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt: Donna/Clara/River/Amy/Martha/Rose. Bonus: the Doctor watches. And then joins in. And then gets totally topped by everyone. Cross-posted at http://eleventy-kink.livejournal.com/942.html?thread=4098478#t4098478

“We need some more lube,” Mickey notices.

“Sorry, I'm all out,” Rory says, “Unless you want the medical grade stuff.”

“Why are you all looking at me?” Jack asks.

The Doctors—Ninth, Tenth, Eleventh, and Twelfth—hold a silent conference. “Fine,” the Eleventh Doctor mutters. “I'm hosting, I'll go ask if the girls have any.” He reaches for his trousers.

“What do you think you're doing?” the Tenth Doctor asks.

“I don't like wandering around the TARDIS naked,” the Eleventh Doctor explains. 

“I do all the time,” the Twelfth Doctor snorts.

The other Doctors make disgusted faces, then the Eleventh Doctor crosses his arms over his chest. “Look, at least let me have my bowtie.”

“Tie it on the way,” the Ninth Doctor orders. “I'm not getting any younger.”

***

“Bossy britches,” he mutters as his fingers knot the tie. “Thinks he's so cool with his leather U-boat jacket.” To be fair, it is pretty cool. He shivers as he walks through the corridors. Would settle for even a not very cool coat right now, though, he reckons. Probably looks like a goose-pimpled burlesque dancer. Should be almost...there.

He pauses outside the lavish room where the women had set themselves up. Might as well watch a bit. Make sure he isn't interrupting or anything. Yes, that was it. Serves that lot right if it takes him quite a while to play fetch. Mm, there are Donna and Amy, going at it like nobody's business. Why stop with one ginger when you could have two? Not jealous at all. Clara, the only one he hasn't met yet, with Martha Jones: goodness, what a sight! And that left... His jaw drops at the sight of his wife's curls bouncing between the thighs of one Rose Tyler. 

The sound of said jaw clicking shut again interrupts the orgy. “Hello, Sweetie,” River calls, rolling onto her back, one leg bent, covering her loins, and the other invitingly spread out. “What can't we do for you?”

“I, that is, we...” He trails off, distracted, as usual, by River. Not to mention everyone else. Unconsciously, his left index finger slides between his right index and middle fingers. “Lube!” he splutters at last, as Clara runs a teasing finger up his shaft. “We're all out.” He grins and shakes his hair out of his eyes. “Put to very good use.”

Rose beckons the other five women to gather around her on the other side of the room, and there they confer. “Well,” she begins, “we'd be willing to let you have some...but not for free,” she concludes, lips quirking up into a smile he hadn't seen in centuries.

He waits for them to explain, and it takes several minutes before it dawns on him. “Throw in a few banana-flavored condoms, and we'll call it a deal.”

***

“Right, where do we begin, then?” the Doctor asks, rubbing his hands together.

“You begin on your hands and knees, Doctor dear,” Amy tells him, popping a double-ended dildo into place. “Front or back, Dr. Jones?”

“Back,” Martha replies, dribbling lube down her own cock. “They say every great man has a great woman behind him, after all.” She and Amy share a laugh and the Doctor licks his lips in anticipation.

“Mmm, I'm getting hot and bothered thinking about my boys having fun together. Did you fuck our husbands? Don't answer that,” Amy continues, guiding her tip into his mouth. “Put that mouth to better use for once in your life.” 

“It's just plastic,” River chimes in. “Nothing wrong with a plastic cock.” She winks at him as he remembers what she had said about Nestene duplicates so many years ago. “Did you fuck Rory while he was plastic? Somebody should have kept dear old Dad busy.” She throws back her head and her throaty laugh morphs into a long, low moan; Clara is fingering both her and Donna. He is able to wonder where Rose was for about a second when Martha and Amy begin fucking him in earnest. Slowly, clumsily at first, then gaining speed and confidence. Probably just as well he can't make jokes about who wears the pants in each of their respective relationships at the moment anyway. 

Amy's got one hand knotted in his bangs, the other pressing a thumb on her clit as she moans. Martha's fingers duck down to stroke him, firm, clinical, still more surgeon than soldier. He wants to moan, to thank them, to plead for more, but that's when Amy's toy jerks into his throat. His respiratory bypass cuts in and higher brain function cuts out. 

He comes to a few seconds later, sprawled on his back. “Christ, I thought my spaceman was skinny.” Donna eyes him critically. “I don't want you to think this means anything,” she cautions him. “Emotional, I mean.” He shakes his head vigorously just before she slides down onto him.

“Got it!” he manages. “Definitely reading you loud and clear! Understand fully! Don't mind if I keep babbling! Sweet Gallifrey, that feels good! How are you doing that? You have great breasts, really great!”

“Quit while you're ahead,” Donna warns him, bracing herself on the meat of his shoulders, finally stopping his hands from moving around. Bloody distracting, he was. How's a girl supposed to get off with all that hand waving and chin wagging? She finishes with him rather ruthlessly before he can start talking again, then, feeling guilty, gives him a kiss on the cheek. 

“Mm,” he manages appreciatively as she plunks off to watch as Clara and Rose move in. “Do I really wander around the TARDIS naked? On my next face?” he asks Clara.

“Yup,” Clara confirms.

“Doesn't that bother you?” he asks, feeling a bit uncomfortable without three layers between him and daylight. Maybe he could ease into it; he seems to recall that he had started plans on holographic clothing before he'd gotten bored and reworked them into a really wizard pinball machine.

She coughs discreetly. “I am usually the one wearing his hoodie.” She waits a few seconds as Rose giggles and the light slowly comes on. “And just his hoodie.”

“I bet that looks cute on you,” Rose notes, sizing the other girl up. “How do you think I'd look in just a black leather jacket?”

Clara freezes for a moment and her eyes close in rapture before she pounces on Rose, pulling her into a full-throated snog. “I'll just be over here,” the Doctor mutters. “Don't mind me.” He takes himself in hand and begins to stroke lazily.

Without warning, a pair of handcuffs slap onto his wrists as his arms are pinned behind him. “Hello, River,” he murmurs casually, not bothering to look behind him.

He can hear her frown. “Is this old hat for you, then? No, don't tell me.” She reaches forward and deftly prises Rose's thigh out from between Clara's legs. “Just give them some tongue.” She beams at him and claps him rousingly on the back, causing him to tip forward. “There, that's good,” she coos. 

“Not going to do anything yourself?” he asks, disappointed.

“Oh, sweetie, you should know by now: I like to have you all to myself.” She hooks a finger through his bowtie and gives a loving tug before sauntering off in the general direction of Donna Noble.

He has a few new bruises by the time he's done, but well worth it given the screams he produced, he decides. “Right,” he announces to all and sundry. “That's my end of the bargain then,” he says, feeling rather more confident than is perhaps warranted from a man flat on his back wearing nothing but a pair of handcuffs, a slightly-used bowtie, and the odd smear of bodily secretions. He peeps down at himself. And a fez, evidently. Jolly good, he thinks. Keep him from getting cold in all the wrong places. Amy snorts into her clasped hands. 

“You're adorable.”

“Pond,” he says, sternly. “And what about the lube? Or the handcuffs?”

“They'll deliver the lube,” River says, eyes a-twinkle, tossing the fez into a corner. “I'll handle the handcuffs,” she concludes as her lips sink to the tip of his shaft. “Later.”


End file.
